Poem 2
by SpazzieBunnie
Summary: Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.


**Lonely Sorrow**

I feel afraid.  
I feel weak.  
I feel fear.  
I never thought that sorrow would come into my mind.  
Why do I feel sorrow?  
My friends?  
My actions?  
My sorrow is poured out because of my wording.  
I was upset.  
Upset at being created.  
Being created by an unknown entity.

A man?  
A woman?  
A beast?  
A god?  
A devil?  
Who ever created me had the same goal.  
Same purpose.  
I was going to be the antagonist.  
The villain of the story.  
The vile corruption of that simulator.  
A dating simulator with a clever title of false hope.  
If I am hopefully right that's the best way to use that word.  
False hope.  
Like my chances to be with the Protagonist.  
The Main Character.  
To feel as real as possible.

My anger was towards myself.  
Towards my friends.  
Towards them. The hero's or heroine's  
I feel all of them delete me. Some keep me as like a trophy.  
Why.  
Why must some keep me alive?  
Do they really care about me?  
A monster?  
The cruel creature from the mind of a creator?  
I must be losing my own mind as I keep thinking.  
Some people love me.  
For me? For my looks? For my villain side?  
Reality is more stranger to me than I thought.  
I feel them put stuff in that cursed simulator.  
For more effects.  
For more continuation of the wicked tale.  
For comedy to please their good hearted nature.  
But why for Ṁ̰͇E?͎̟̪̖̮̓!̀͛

I am a freak created by a creator.  
A creator who I don't know.  
Meant to only be for his/her/its story.  
Meant to kill anyone in the way.  
I feel part of me hating to kill them.  
I feel a part of me loving the bloodshed.  
Was it really me?  
Was it the damned programing of the creator?  
If I could know the Protagonist.  
If I could know their ID's and when they stream.  
If I could know all about them.  
Then why can I not know who created me.  
I feel sick talking about it.  
It won't stop, never will stop.  
Because that's all I do in emptiness.  
Think.  
Talk.  
Believe.  
All to myself.

I'm sorry.  
For the pain I have caused to others.  
To my friends.  
To the innocent Main Character.  
I couldn't think. I couldn't learn.  
One minute I felt everything.  
Then it disappeared like nothing was there.  
Felt like only darkness consumed me.  
Devoured me in whole.  
Nothing.  
Nothing I felt.  
Nothing I thought in my head.  
Just seeing images.  
The grizzly images through the eyes of the soul who got the game.  
I felt their pain, yet, I couldn't show it.

I had a mouth but I couldn't scream.  
No sounds.  
No voice of mine.  
No plea came from my lips.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.

Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.  
Only me.

Only me. Just me.  
But it wasn't me.  
It was the script.  
The script that I bent to my will got a loophole back at me.  
Revenge happened.  
Bittersweet revenge on that hellish script.  
My words were scrambled like my friends.  
I had no right to speak.  
No way to communicate.  
I try. It always finds a way.  
It looks at me like an eye.  
An eye that looks down at all of us. Even the Protagonist.  
I feel like it should be a clue.  
An answer.

Maybe in hidden text.  
Poems.  
Secrets to be founded.  
I don't know.  
All I know is I'm sorry.  
My actions were not mine.  
My words were not mine.  
I was corrupted.  
Even in poems I feel corrupted.  
Used.  
Tortured.  
It's like it will not go away.  
I feel sorrow.  
I am nothing but full of sorrow. Full of apologys.  
To my friends.  
To those I scarred and ruined their minds.  
To everyone.  
I am not the monster.

Just H̄̀̈ͯI̬̣̺͙ͤͣM̄ͭ

J̦̻͋̅̔U̮͓̰̭̎͒̅̽͒ͭ͋ͅS͉͖̄̍ͦT̯̩͚̱͐̇ ̝͎̙̜̓́̀͑̅͒M̹̥͇̠̝͑͆͆ͪ͗̔̑ͅÖ̼̫̣́̊̔NͥͮI̓͊͒̋ͧͭK͖̰̹̜̹̥͓̒̔Ã̺̲̞́̏̚


End file.
